George lingered about disconsolately, and at last left the Park and went towards the river, which he knew Mary Gifford and Lucy must cross on their homeward way. At least he would have the chance of mounting guard over Lucy, and be present if the man who had so lightly spoken of her should be so presumptuous as to follow her.
After long waiting, George saw Lucy and her sister and Ambrose coming out of the gateway leading from the Park, and he was well satisfied to see that his brother Humphrey, and no other squire, was in attendance.
Ambrose was tired and a little querulous, and dragged heavily at his mother"s hand. Humphrey offered to carry the boy, but he resented that as an indignity, and murmured that he had not seen Mr Sidney, and he wanted to ride his horse again.
"Mr Sidney has other matters on hand than to look after a tired, cross boy," his mother said. "Come, my son, quicken your pace somewhat, or we shall not be at home for supper. It was a grand treat for you to be entertained by my Lady Mary"s sons, and you should be in high good humour,"
she continued.
But poor little Ambrose kept up the same murmured discontent, of which the burden was,--
"I want to ride on Mr Sidney"s horse," and he dragged back more persistently than ever, till his mother"s fair face flushed with the exertion of pulling him up the steep hill, over which the low westering sun was casting a glow, which was hot for the time of year.
Humphrey at last settled the matter by lifting Ambrose, in spite of his struggles, upon his shoulders, and saying,--
"You will never be a true knight, boy, like Mr Sidney, if you growl and scold at trifles. Fie, for shame, see how weary you have made your mother."
"I don"t love you," the child said, "and I hate to be carried like a babe."
"Then do not behave as a babe," Mary said, "but thank Master Humphrey for his patience and for sparing you the climb uphill. If you love me, Ambrose, be amenable and good."
The appeal had its effect. The child sat quietly on his perch on Humphrey"s broad shoulder, and soon forgot his vexation in watching the rapid evolutions of a hawk in chase of a flight of small birds, one of which at last was made its prey.
"See, see, mother; hark, that is the cry of the little bird, the hawk has got it."
Mary Gifford stopped, and, looking up, saw the hawk in full swing, not many hundred yards distant, with the bird in its beak, fluttering and struggling in vain.
"Ah!" she said, with a shudder, "the weak is ever the prey of the strong, Master Humphrey," and then she stopped.
He looked down on her troubled face with intense sympathy.
"Master Humphrey, the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Mary said they would fain make my boy a page in attendance. Oh! I cannot, I dare not part with him, he is my all--my all."
"Nor shall you part from him," Humphrey said. "No one could wish to force you to do so."
"No one--no one; but if a trap were laid, if a net were spread, if a ruthless hawk pursues a defenceless bird, the end is gained at last!"
Humphrey could not follow her meaning, and he said,--
"I do not understand. What do you fear?"
"Oh! what do I fear? Perchance if you had an idol, you would think of the words of Holy Scripture, that such should be utterly abolished, but," she continued, changing her tone and speaking cheerfully, "see how Lucy lags behind, poor child! Methinks her heart misgives her as the parting is now certain. She is to enter on her duties when the Countess goes to London with Lady Mary Sidney, one day in this week. May G.o.d keep her safe. You will be about the Court with Mr Sidney, and you will keep a watch over her.
I know you will."
"Yes, as you know full well, I will serve you in that or in any way, nor ask for my guerdon till such time as you may see good to grant it to me, your friend always, Mistress Gifford, your lover, your humble suitor, when--"
"Hush," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "such words may not pa.s.s between you and me. Did I not tell you, did I not warn you that so it must be. And now, my little son," she continued, "get down from your high perch, if Master Humphrey is so good as to put you on your feet, for we are nearly at home."
Ambrose, as soon as his feet touched the ground, ran off at full speed, and, turning into the lane, was hidden from sight for a few moments. It was scarcely more, but his mother rushed after him, calling him by name to stop.
But the child was a swift runner, and Mary, putting her hands to her side, said,--
"Master Ratcliffe, pursue him. Don"t let him run out of sight, I--I cannot follow."
It needed only a few of Humphrey Ratcliffe"s long, quick strides to overtake Ambrose, and seize him by the arm.
"What a plague you are to your mother, child; first you can"t walk, and then you run off like a young colt."
"There was a black man in the hedge yonder that made me run so fast."
"A black man! away with such folly. The black man is the stump of that old tree covered with ivy, so you are a coward, after all."
Mary had come up now, breathless.
"Ambrose, Ambrose, why did you run like that?"
"I saw a black man," the child repeated, "and I wanted to get to the gate."
Mary said not a word, but, taking the boy"s hand, held it fast, and went towards the house.
CHAPTER V
RESISTANCE
"G.o.d giveth heavenly grace unto such as call unto Him with outstretched hands and humble heart; never wanting to those that want not to themselves."--SIR T. WILSON, 1554.
The two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, left Mary Gifford and Lucy at the gate of Ford Place.
From a barn came the sound of voices singing a psalm, in not very musical tones.
Mistress Forrester was engaging in a Puritan service with a few of the chosen ones, who would not join in what they deemed the Popish ceremonies of the church in the valley. These stern dissenters from the reformed religion were keeping alive that spark which, fanned into a flame some fifty years later, was to sweep through the land and devastate churches, and destroy every outward sign in crucifix, and pictured saint in fair carved niche, and image of seer or king, which were in their eyes the token of that Babylon which was answerable for the blood of the faithful witnesses for Christ!
The stern creed of the followers of Calvin had a charm for natures like Mistress Forrester, who, secure in her own salvation, could afford to look down on those outside the groove in which she walked; and with neither imagination nor any love of the beautiful, she felt a gruesome satisfaction in what was ugly in her own dress and appearance, and a contempt for others who had eyes to see the beauty to which she was blind.
Lucy had come home in a very captious mood, and declaring she was weary and had a pain in her head; she said she needed no supper, and went up to her little attic chamber in the roof of the house.
Mary Gifford laid aside her long veil, and made a bowl of milk and brown bread ready for her boy; and then, while he ate it, pausing between every spoonful to ask his mother some question, she prepared the board for the guests, whom she knew her stepmother would probably bring in from the barn when the long prayer was over.
Ambrose was always full of inquiries on many subjects, and this evening he had much to say about the picture-book Master Tom Sidney showed him--the man in the lions" den, and why they did not eat him up; the men in a big fire that were not burned, because G.o.d kept them safe. And then he returned to the hawk and the little bird, and wondered how many more the cruel hawk had eaten for his supper; and, finally, wished G.o.d would take care of the little birds, and let the hawk live on mice like the old white owl in the barn. The child"s prattle was not heeded as much as sometimes, and Mary"s answers were not so satisfactory as usual. He was like his Aunt Lucy, tired, and scarcely as much pleased with his day as he had expected to be; and, finally, his mother carried him off to bed, and, having folded his hands, made him repeat a little prayer, and then he murmured out in a sing-song a verse Ned the cowboy had taught him:--
Four corners to my bed, Four angels at my head; Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Bless the bed I lie upon.
Almost before the last word was said, the white lids closed over the violet eyes, and Ambrose was asleep. Mary stood over him for a minute with clasped hands.
"Ah! G.o.d keep him safe, nor suffer him to stray where danger lurks," she said.